To Find You In The Dark
by Shadowy Star
Summary: In a world like Erna, dreams still hold power. What if Gerald wanted to find him a much as he wanted to find Gerald? Damien wondered. D/G


**To Find You In The Dark**

by Shadowy Star

2011

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Coldfire trilogy. It belongs to C.S. Friedman. I do own this story. Characters, places, locations and organizations not appearing or being mentioned in the books are also mine. Do not archive or translate or otherwise use without permission.

**Summary:** In a world like Erna, dreams still hold power. What if Gerald wanted to find him a much as he wanted to find Gerald? Damien wondered.

**A/N:** I very much like the whole concept of dream manipulation in the books and just had to try it myself. I was also wondering if that part of their link perhaps remained, we are talking subconscious here, after all. This is the result.

Posted as my X-mas fic this year. While not exactly X-mas themed, it's still about having a wish fulfilled and the power of love so I figured it might be fitting. Needless to say, angst with a fluffy ending. So, so much fluff.

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><p><em>Oh, no,<em> Damien thought in his dream. _Not this again._

He stood on the shoreline of a river. It extended both to left and right, fading in the distance. Shimmering mist the color of stormy sky hung above the waters, clouding his vision to the point that he could see the opposite shore only as a faint line though the river wasn't that broad at all.

An infinitely familiar shape stood over there, tall, slender, golden blond hair, regal posture. Gerald wore a Revival style tunic of a red so deep it almost seemed black over black leggins and black shirt, the silk visible even at that distance. Damien drank him in, every minute detail, every wave of that hair, and the fall of his clothes, and the expression in those silver eyes. No matter what happened as the dream unfolded, he'd _never_ get tired of this, would suffer any nightmare imaginable for this, for those briefest glimpses of what once was and what might have been. Might have beens was all he had now – that and the dream. He shook his head, never letting his eyes slip off Gerald, dread and regret in his heart already, waiting for the scene to continue.

And then it came, so slowly he wouldn't have been able to tell when it started had he not seen it for a hundred times or a thousand. At first, the highlights in the other's golden hair dimmed, paled away into nothingness. Then, the colors of hair, tunic and clothes became muted as if an artist was slowly mixing water into his vibrant palette. _No, no, please no,_ Damien pleaded silently, watching as layer by precious layer the image grew less solid and more the mirage it was. _Oh, please no... I'll do anything, just please don't! _

"Don't," he said out loud, stretching out a hand. "Don't go." As if words could stop Gerald from leaving, as if they could hold him here, in this dream.

The slender shape on the opposite shore slowly disappeared, becoming more and more transparent until there was only an outline left. And then, even that vanished.

He dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around his mid-section in a futile attempt to lessen the searing pain in his chest.

"No," he whispered because he lacked the strength for more. "Not again." At this point of his dream he was left here in the dark, alone with his guilt and his despair and that almost unbearable pain until he would wake up some time later.

"But I'm here," a familiar voice said from behind him, and he didn't even had the strength to wonder at that deviation from the dream's usual course. "I'm here, Damien."

He didn't move.

"Go away," he said tiredly. "Don't torture me, please."

"I'm not here to torture you," Gerald replied, walking around him to stand two steps from his position. "I could never. Please believe that," he continued, and Damien had to close his eyes to prevent scalding tears from falling. That voice, that face, those _eyes_… Oh, how he longed to see them once more even if they were different now, no longer bright silver but the bottomless black of True Night. The different appearance hadn't bothered him then and didn't now. What did it matter if Gerald looked different, he was still _Gerald_. Opposite, friend, loved one. Because despite all the sexual tension between them –and yes, of course he'd noticed; he would have been blind, deaf and stupid not to– they never had been lovers. First, Gerald had been undead, his body unable to respond to that kind of pleasure, and when he'd become human again they were too busy planning Calesta's destruction. Then came the day under Gerald's Keep and some part of Damien had died there, too. And even later, upon meeting the mysterious youth, that part had never returned.

Gerald slid down fluidly until they were kneeling in front of each other and then elegant hands were placed on his shoulders. And this, this was too much to bear, and Damien gripped those thin wrists and crushed the other to his chest. He let his forehead drop against a long line of neck and a delicate collarbone, now that unlike the dark-haired youth, Gerald matched him in height again. Arms wrapped themselves around his upper body, holding on as if the other man's life depended on it.

"Damien," the other said, the longing in that silky voice so perfectly matching Damien's own and he's never seen Gerald so open, so stripped of all his shields.

"Gerald," he whispered. "Oh, Gerald..." Tears fell then, tears he'd refused to cry at the Keep, tears he'd fought on Lethe's shores, tears he'd kept back on the Black Ridge Pass.

Slender hands caressed his back. "Shh," Gerald softly said. "Shh, it's alright."

"How can _this_ be alright?"

"I'm sorry," the other man whispered, his very tone mercilessly honest. The arms around Damien gentled as if their owner wasn't sure the embrace was still welcomed. "I'm sorry, Damien, I'm so sorry..."

He wound the fingers of his left hand into the soft hair, drawing Gerald closer until he felt smooth skin of a cheek against his neck. Those hands resumed their movement up and down his back shyly, tentatively.

"I never wanted to hurt you – despite anything I said or did to you I never _wanted_ to hurt you. I wanted to play games for my amusement and at some point I wanted to possess you, to claim and mark you as my own but please, please Damien, if you can, believe _this_." The arms around him tightened, and he felt those slender hands shake.

"I believe you," he made softly, his turn now to comfort the other. "I've forgiven you long ago, right then on the Pass."

"So generous... Thank you," that last came with a quiet sob, barely more than indrawn air, and there were hot tears against the side of his neck now. For a moment, disbelief was all Damien felt because Gerald Tarrant didn't cry, possibly didn't even remember how to. Then more of his own tears fell – for Gerald's suffering, not for his own. He gripped his other tightly as if he could lessen the pain that way, could keep it outside the circle of his arms. Slight tremors were shaking the body he held, and more tears followed.

"Shh," he made, "don't cry... Gerald, don't cry..."

After an eternity of tears they sat, exhausted, leaning into each other.

He drew a breath, then exhaled slowly. "What happened to us, Gerald? We were so close to winning."

Silver eyes met and held his own. "There wasn't any other way. I'm sorry for having Worked you into leaving." There was no lie in the soft voice, no hidden meaning. "You would have stayed if I hadn't."

Damien nodded, too tired to feel anger, to feel anything but this bottomless pain, and guilt. "I would have."

Gerald's arms tightened around him again. "You would have died." Pain just as deep, guilt just as black as his own, echoed in those words.

He pulled his other even closer, burying his face in the silky hair. "I know. I've known back then."

"You do? You did?"A wave of shock went through the slender body in his arms. He could feel it rising and fading into nothing as the other man answered his own question. "Of course you did. Of course." More pain at the sudden realization. "Still you would have stayed."

"Yeah." Damien smiled. "You always insisted I had no sense of self-preservation."

An exasperated huff of air against his ear. "Oh you!"

Damien felt a grin curling his lips.

"When I sent you away," the other man started, voice deep and hoarse with honesty and sorrow, "it was like having my heart ripped out of my chest. It was –without exception, Damien, just so you know– the hardest and most painful thing I've ever done."

"But... surely ... Almea ...?" Damien trailed off, holding his other close, sensing deep hurt within.

Gerald's beautiful silver eyes were clear, unhidden, without any shields. "I was filled with an insatiable urge _to survive_ back then, and it blurred everything for me. I knew perfectly well what I was doing but at the same time I realized I didn't love Almea as much as I thought I did. This doesn't excuse the deed itself and I'll forever feel its taint on me – still, it didn't hurt me as watching you walk away did. Had you stayed, you would have traded your life for mine, wouldn't you?"

He nodded. "Of course I'd have. What kind of stupid question is that?"

"I couldn't let that happen, don't you understand?!"

His throat ached. "Ah, Gerald... what are you doing? Why telling me this, now?"

Slender fingers traced his brows, touched his cheeks and lashes. "I want to see you smile again. I want you to get over me and be happy."

How many times was he to cry in this nightmare-turned-dream-turned-nightmare? His eyes burned. "I don't know if it's possible. I don't know if I want it to be possible. I miss you, Gerald." There it was, finally in the open, in the silence between them.

"I know," his other said, fingers trembling against his skin. "I know, Damien."

"You know you are it for me?" There had always been a Gerald-shaped hole within his heart, he just didn't know it. "My perfect match, the one who completes me?"

Gerald was shaking in his arms.

"This is _not_ getting over me." The usually calm voice was rough, unsteady.

"I don't want to be getting over you. It hurts so much not having you here."

"I know. I miss you, too." Those elegant fingers were gently running through his hair. "Oh how I miss you."

"Then why can't we try? Do you trust me so little?" And Gerald probably didn't. His whole existence depended on Damien's ability to leave their past, well, in the past and the other man had always been afraid of death. Of course, he wouldn't let Damien endanger this new chance he'd given so much to _have_. Still, the knowledge hurt.

The beautiful silver eyes widened. "Oh, Damien. Look at me." Hands caressed his face, lifting it a little. "Of course I trust you, never doubt that."

"Then why? If you trust me enough? Or.. or is it," he gestured down at himself, "that I'm no longer young and basically a relic of Erna's past and completely useless? Is it that I'm no match to your perfection or your genius?"

The other's hands stilled, cupping his face, turning it to meet their owner's utterly shocked gaze. "Oh, One God, _Damien_... Have you ever seen yourself?" A small laugh followed. "And _you_ talk to me about perfection. You are breathtaking."

And then there were soft lips on his own, and Damien wondered if he would die right here because kissing Gerald was nothing he could've imagined, not even in his wildest … well, dreams. Warm, and perfect and soft and passionate at the same time. He lost himself in that kiss willingly, keeping his focus on savoring it as long as it lasted but, One God, how was he supposed to wake up and leave it all behind, leave Gerald behind? He drew out of the kiss as slowly as possible, prolonging contact, trying to lessen the pain in his heart.

"Shh," Gerald said. "Don't think. Not here." And drew him back in.

Long fingers found their way into his hair again, and a soft exhale of his name against his lips, and nothing could have stopped him from sliding his tongue into that hot mouth. He ran his hands up and down Gerald's back, desperately wishing the silk gone. And then, Gerald's shirt melted away and he was touching warm skin, just as smooth as the fabric had been, and it was perfect again and he lost himself in this incredible feeling until he felt a slender hand against his sternum and … just when did his own shirt vanish? Smooth fingertips skimmed across his scars, desperately, hungrily. He couldn't deny the intensity, the sheer burning _need_... He bent down and ran his tongue along the inviting curve of his other's throat, bit down at the base right where he could feel erratic heartbeat. Gerald gave a mindless moan, slender body arching into his hands. He cupped the back of the golden-haired head, turning Gerald's face back to his own and claimed those thin lips in a bruising kiss. His left wandered lower, caressing a sharp hip. Suddenly, Gerald leaned back, and when again had the river bank given way to a luxurious bed with silk sheets and countless fluffy pillows...? He wasn't given time to wonder as those arms drew him closer and on top until he was covering Gerald's body with his own. Sharp nails left thin lines of fire on his back, then those hands cupped his buttocks. He opened his eyes, unaware until then of having closed them in the first place. His lover's pale skin seemed almost translucent against the dark blue fabric. For a second, he stopped his thorough exploration of his other's body and grinned, licking his lips. Tonight's dream seemed to follow quite a different pattern.

Wait. Stop.

_Pattern_?

Everything screeched to an abrupt halt, arousal swiftly bleeding out of him. _Think, Damien. This is important._ _Probably more so than anything before in your life._ Pattern.

He pushed Gerald back to look into bright silver eyes. "What is this? Is this all still my dream or are you –as yourself I mean– here or am I in your dream? Or something different altogether?"

"Ah, Damien. You're asking a philosophical question many have tried to answer yet no one succeeded." For someone who'd just been about to have long, intense sex, the other man sounded almost completely unruffled. "'Was I then a man who dreamed of being a butterfly or am I now a butterfly that dreams of being a man?'" he quoted the ancient tale from old Terra, voice sad but steady.

As if on cue, several large, beautiful butterflies the color of spring leaves and summer skies fluttered past them, and the scenery changed again, recreating one of their many camps back in the South. Damien felt his tunic, rough and scratchy against over-sensitized skin, the familiar weight of his sword, even his old boots. He wasn't impressed. "I studied the-dreamer-and-the-butterfly paradox. Sometimes you forget where my education comes from. This answers my question how?"

"It doesn't, of course." His other's small laugh was a bit shaky.

"_Now_ I'm sure it's the real you in my dream –or the real me in yours– because if you were the product of my own mind we would finally manage a sensible conversation!"

His other laughed and it was such a wonderful sound, that laugh – honest and warm, and so very different from the hollow tones of the Hunter's malevolent laughter in his nightmares seemingly aeons ago.

"So?" he asked. "Is this still my dream or did you somehow managed to Work yourself into it?"

"Working isn't possible anymore. Though I feel flattered you'd think me still able to."

"Well, long experience has taught me you, of all people, would always have a few cards up your sleeve. Your contingency plans probably have contingency plans."

Another joyous grin, perfect in its simplicity, curled the other man's lips. "They do."

He laughed. "Of course they do. And now stop evading the question and tell me." All mirth was gone as suddenly as it'd come. "Tell me how this is possible and what I have to do to make it happen again because if the alternative is not having you at all, I'd do anything." He caught the other's hand and pressed it to his face.

Beloved silver eyes met his, wide with shock and understanding, glistening again with unshed tears.

"I don't know, Damien. I honestly don't know. It seems we're both able to influence this so my guess would be it's not your dream alone –or mine, for that matter– but ours." A curious fingertip gently touched the skin under his left eye.

"Ours," he echoed and nodded. Yes.

"And as to how... No matter the changes to human interaction with the fae, this is still Erna. Maybe while conscious Working isn't possible, unconscious Working _is_."

Damien drew a sharp breath in realization, remembered Hesseth trying so hard to explain what she couldn't show at the moment. "You mean like rakh Work. 'If the clan needs rain, it will rain'."

"Exactly."

"But that means we'll never find out! Because I'm rather sure going to sleep while thinking 'I want to meet Gerald Tarrant in my dreams' is still a conscious wish and would achieve nothing."

The look in Gerald's eyes was seven parts pride and three parts sadness. "'No match for my genius' you said?"

"Tell me how to find you," he pleaded, pressing Gerald to him desperately.

"I don't know. Here, I don't remember. Can you tell me where you are?"

Damien tried and found he couldn't. His recollection of his current location was foggy at best. Damn. Subconscious, of course, didn't care for things like places that held no deeper meaning to him. Of course.

And then, then it struck, with the force of a quake, of a tsunami wave, of a hurricane. In hindsight, it was so _easy_. "Gerald." He drew a breath. "I love you."

For that, he got the rare pleasure to see just the faintest blush on his lover's high cheekbones. The silver eyes met his own straight on, though.

"I love you, too, don't you know?"

He nodded. "Then come with me, Love. _Trust_ me." He caught his other's hands in his. "Trust _us_, that we _need_ each other."

And then, he _pulled_.

Something shifted, turned inside out or maybe outside in, and he pushed on, ignoring the familiar Keys his conscious, waking mind was eagerly supplying him with, and they were drifting, falling, rising... There was a pulsing thread between them, no longer icy like coldfire or burning like solar fae but of a gentle warmth, like an afternoon in late spring... He clung to that link, feeling Gerald doing the same, feeling both of them in it, so different, so alike, no longer two separate beings... _Them_.

Love. Need.

Yes.

He woke up suddenly, and with someone alive and breathing in his arms, and a feeling that all was as it should be.

Damien blinked his eyes open.

"Gerald?" he murmured sleepily and then froze, suddenly completely awake at the thought of what he might have done. But the body in his arms didn't tense up, and there was no fear in those beautiful eyes – black now, silver lost forever, but still familiar, still _Gerald's_.

"Of course," Gerald answered with a faint smile. "We need to talk, by the way. Utilizing semantics in a rakh Working, you shifty ex-Priest, you."

Damien laughed.

"Later," he said, "when I'm completely sure this is real."

The other man gasped for breath, and slender arms were pulling him closer until they were pressed together from chest to shins. "Damien. Love, it _is_ real. Trust _me_. Trust _us._" Then, a devious smile appeared on those full lips. "Or did you really think I would allow somebody else to sleep in my beloved's bed?"

He tightened his arms around his love's willowy body, before loosening his grip again with a happy sigh. "And would _my_ beloved like to take care of that … forever?" he asked, his voice carefully even.

It was Gerald's turn to gasp. His emotions rang clear in his voice as he answered, smiling. "Yes. Oh, yes."

Damien smiled, leaning in, sleep very far from his mind.

Tomorrow would be the first day of his life.

_FIN_

**Extra Notes:**

1) The whole emotional roller-coaster was hell to write. Since it's a dream and subconscious and all, I felt they'd be far more open with their emotions and thoughts. I hope I managed to show that.

2) Gerald quotes the Eastern variation of the dream argument as postulated by Zhuangzi.


End file.
